The Best Intentions
by CowboySteel
Summary: Dean gets involved in a bar brawl and comes off worse. It's Sammy's fault. And Sammy needs to redeem himself. Dean whumpage galore and guilty!Sam and possibly hurt Sam later. Angry!Fatherly!John later too xPre Stanford. R'n'R, apologies for rude dialogue
1. Chapter 1

_Another excuse for Dean whumpage and a little guilty Sam and of course, some brotherly moments. Pre-Stanford, Sam's around 18 and Dean's around 22. Bar brawl and chaos ensues xxx_

_Reviews make me smile. Now don't you want that? Don't you want a girl to smile? _

_(sammy eyes) please review at the bottom..._

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Ding dong.

A light clicked in Dean's head as she walked into the bar, swinging her hips. He watched as she leant over the bar, and pulled a bottle towards her. Her short blonde hair fell in front of her face as she laughed at the bartender's joke. Her laugh was nothing short of a cackle, but still it made Dean smile.

He watched as she moved to a small table to the left of the bar, her hips still swinging.

She sat down, and took a swig of her beer before pulling her phone out of her pocket.

_Boy, it's sad when a girl has to revert to her phone for company, _thought Dean, _I should go help her…_

"Don't wait up Sammy." He said as he picked up his beer and moved towards her.

Sam looked up from his paper and rolled his eyes as he saw the broad that Dean had got his eye on this time. Blonde curly hair, same as last week's. Dean was sure developing a type.

"Hello there," Said Dean, putting on his patented victory smirk as he approached her, her face lighting up as she saw the handsome man set down his beer.

"You look lonely. Mind if I take a seat?"

"Not at all" She pushed the stool away from her with a stilettoed foot, allowing Dean to slip into it.

"So…" she said, smiling at him as he chugged his beer.

"So…" he repeated, his eyes twinkling, "I'm Dean"

"Alexis"

"Nice to meet you, Alexis. You know that is a beautiful name. Just like the lady."

She raised her eyebrows and took a sip from her drink but Dean could have sworn he saw her blush.

"So, what brings you here? I mean, it's kind of a dump for a classy lady like you."

"Well, maybe I like dumps. You never know who you might meet " She winked at him.

_Dude, did she just wink at me!? _

"Well, that is ironic. So do I. I'm sure that's one of many things we have in common…" he raised his eyebrows and let the Winchester charms settle before fully making his move.

"Hmm." She laughed to herself.

"So what do you do, Dean?"

"You'll see" he replied as sharp as a tack.

She coughed.

"Well, I'll need to know your prospects. Girls round here can't just go off with anyone you know. You could be some kind of psycho…" she said, moving her hands up and down the neck of her bottle.

Dean chuckled. This was what Sam needed to learn. The art of flirting.

"Ha, I'm not a psycho…" he leant in and whispered into her ear, "But you could say I'm a bit of an animal"

She bit her lip, as he withdrew and she beamed.

"Is that so? Well, I might just have to see that for myself."

She walked away towards the hat stand in the corner of the bar, and Dean turned to a incredulous Sam, giving his younger brother a thumbs up. Dean was on fire tonight.

He heard raised voices and turned to see his new acquaintance having what seemed like a rather heated argument with the bartender.

"I can do what the hell I like!" she stated bluntly, moving away but was forced to turn back as the man grabbed her by the arm.

"Get off me!" she tried to wrestle herself free but the bartender obviously didn't suffer fools gladly. Ever the knight in shining armour, Dean stepped in.

"Let her go."

The bartender turned to him, and Dean began to regret his actions. This dude was making Conan the Barbarian look safe.

"Says who?" the man asked, standing up to his full height.

Dean was determined not to be phased.

"I say. C'mon, dude, what sort of man are ya?"

Dean had obviously touched a nerve.

"Is this him?" the bartender demanded at Alexis. She looked at the floor.

"Is this him?" he shook her by the arm that was still clamped in his hand.

She nodded.

He threw her away and walked to Dean.

"So, you're the guy that thinks its funny to chat up another man's girl?"

Dean blinked, and shook his head.

"Another man's gi-? Sorry, last time I looked a _woman_ was not a, ahem, man's possession."

The man laughed, hollowly.

"Don't you tell me how to look after _my_ girl…" He warned, clenching his fists and unclenching them again, telling Dean that now was probably not the time to pursue the topic.

As always, Dean threw caution to the wind and ignored.

"Hey, she's gotta mind of her own. And FYI, I didn't know she was _your girl_,"

Dean turned to walk away, back to Sam, but was pulled back by a very heavy arm on his shoulder.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you" said Dean, winding his head round to look over his shoulder.

The man laughed, chucking the cloth laying on his shoulder into the corner.

"Why not?" he asked, cocking his head to one side, challenging Dean.

"Cos now I can do this"

Dean grabbed the man's arm and twisted it behind his back.

"Charlie, leave it." Alexis cried from the corner. Fight after fight, and she wasn't even going out with him anymore. When would he get the idea that she didn't want him. She just wanted to have fun again.

"Yeah, Charlie, leave it." Dean whispered, through gritted teeth before pushing the man away and walking over to Sam.

"Get your coat, Sam, we're going."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. He picked it up, and grabbed his new satchel. Dean had bought it him as a present when Sam had shown him the acceptance letter. Stanford. Sam had done good, real good. Dean's heart had fallen but one sight of his little brother's hopeful face had buried that feeling and all he could do was be happy for him. He knew telling Sam how he felt would do nothing but estrange him and that would kill him. Dean could lose anything, but losing his family would be the last thing he'd ever do. He just couldn't live without them.

"Who'd have thought it? The trash can take itself out" shouted Charlie, as Dean and Sam made for the door.

Dean stopped and turned on his heel, anger forcing him to clench his jaw.

"Wanna say that again?" he hollered, Sam observing as the bar went silent, all drinkers turning to watch as Dean and the bartender continued their conflict.

"Yeah, it looks like the _trash_, that being you, can take out itself" Charlie spat back, watching as Dean laughed.

"Oh you're a poet Charlie." He strode over to the large man, and looked him square in the eyes (granted he had to stand on tip toes, and Dean wasn't exactly short).

"You know, poets are tortured souls, aren't they?" he looked around at the other punters. "Well, whats your poison, Charlie boy? Did mama not love you? Not give ya enough hugs?" He cocked his head to the side in mock sympathy.

"She loved me…" he nodded suggestively, smirked and walked through the sniggering crowd.

Sam exhaled, unable to quite believe how daring Dean was.

"You son of a bitch!"

Dean stopped again.

"That's my mom you're talking about, there." He said, not turning to face the bulky bartender. He couldn't let him see how white he had become, rage blazing in his eyes. This guy just didn't go down easy.

"Yeah, I am! And if you want my comeback, you best go get it off her face!" Charlie shouted, so satisfied with himself and looking around for praise.

Dean clenched his fists, and instead of focussing on Sam's soothing tones, trying to calm him down, he jumped onto the tables and before Charlie knew what was happening Dean had jumped onto his shoulders and forced him to the floor.

Dean sat on him, punching every inch of his face.

"Don't. You. Ever. Talk. About. My. Mother. In. That. Way." he gasped in between punches.

He got up and stood, wiping a hand across his face. He sighed and offered a hand to the man lying upon his back, blood poring from his nose. Dean shouldn't have got that angry, but any thought of his mother made him that way. He took after his father in that respect.

Charlie smacked the hand away and got to his feet. Dean shrugged and finally made to walk out of this joint.

Luckily, he was getting pretty used to his hunter instincts and so was able to tell when a huge, burly guy was about to take him down when his back was turned.

He whirled around and planted the hardest whack upon the bartender's jaw, so much so that it almost made Dean himself stagger back. He watched as Charlie fell, it was almost Matrix style. Dean walked over to him.

"You better think twice next time you try to pull one over on a guy when his back is turned" he drew back his fist, ready for one last reminder that the Winchester's were not to be messed with, but stopped at the sound of his brother's voice.

"Dean! Just leave it now. Let's just get outta here, man.." Sam was almost pleading with his older brother, and now Dean felt a little guilty for letting his fury get the better of him.

He sighed again, and let his arm fall to his side once more.

"'Kay, Sammy…let's…"

He didn't see as Charlie ran his hand into his pocket and pulled out a blade. He didn't see as Charlie raised his arm but he sure as hell felt it when that arm was forced into his back. He sure as hell felt the blade that accompanied it too.

He swayed where he stood and fell, Sam catching him as he ran to his brother's aid.

"Dean!"

"Shoulda let me get him, Smmy!" he closed his eyes, and Sam's heart plummeted as he felt his brother's body go lax. The warmth that was running into his clothes assured him that his brother was losing blood, and far too fast.

"Call 911" Sam shouted into the crowd. Nothing happened.

"CALL 911" Sam shouted into the stunned silence, and this time he heard the scuffling as people got out their phones and dialled.

He didn't hear the rest though. That was all a daze. That was all a daze because Sam didn't know anything past his brother at this point. Dean was what mattered now, and Sam was sure he was about to lose him. All because of a stupid bar fight. That Dean had been winning.

Sam growled at himself, stroking Dean's hair with a bloodied hand as he lay his brother's form onto his lap.

This was Sam's fault. He had been worried, afraid of confrontation, and now, his brother was lying, dying, in his arms.

_Oh. Sam._ _Why did you distract him?!_

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	2. Chapter 2

_Oh thanks so much to everyone who read chapter 1 and a huge hug to those who reviewed. I wish i owned dean so i could send him round to serenade you with his rich smooth voice but alas, i own nothing. Anyway, read on. John's mega harsh in this but he will be fine, and dandy (and fatherly later). it's just for dramatic effect at this point. Thanks again to all and go for it when you get to the bottom..._

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Chapter 2

"No!!"

Sam ran to the place where his brother laid, slumped and pale, the sunshine illuminating his bloodied face.

Sam skidded to Dean's side, gently pulling him up onto his lap.

"No, c'mon Dean…"

He checked Dean over, patting his pallid face with his hot palms. He had to be okay he just had to be.

"Dean? Don't you die on me…c'mon, man, you're never hurt…"

Sam pleaded for his brother to wake up, feeling the sun burn into his back as he continued to shout at his brother. _Where is the god-damned ambulance??_

"Dean? Please, I'm begging you, open your eyes…"

He watched, his heart leaping as Dean's emerald eyes became visible.

"'Cos ya…'sked…so nicely..Smmy" he said thickly. He tried to swallow, but found himself coughing, ashamed to see the blood pour from his lips and onto his little brother's arm.

"S'ok Dean. You'll be okay…"

"Ha…ha…don't think so…this time…bro…" he breathed. His throat was so dry and his mouth felt like cotton. He could see that Sammy was scared, and Dean felt guilty. He couldn't leave his brother like that. He pulled his face into a grin. "Skywwaaallkkerrr" He laughed to himself, blood spattering his teeth and filling his mouth with the taste of iron.

Sam didn't laugh. How did Dean think that would help? He was dying in Sam's arms and all he could think to say was some stupid Star Wars reference in the hope of making everything alright. Dean was an idiot sometimes.

"No, Dean, don't joke now…you ain't gonna die here, not on Stepford lawns, right? C'mon, dude, you know you'll be okay…you'll be driving your baby this time tomorrow, and meeting up with whatsername…you know, cute blonde chick from that bar, remember?"

"Laura…oh yeah…Laura" Dean grinned but it was soon lost in a tumult of agony, closing his eyes against the light that was becoming far too bright. He pulled onto Sam's shirt, his little brother's face swimming in front of his own as the blood and pain tried to engulf him.

"Yeah, see, Laura. What will she do if you die, eh? She can't miss out on the Dean Winchester experience can she? You said it yourself…" Sam tried to keep his brother with him, talking about anything, anyone that might distract him from the pain, from the darkness that was so near.

"She might have to Sammy…" Dean's voice broke. "I'm sorry…"

Sam held his big brother tighter, determined not to let go.

"What for, Dean? There's nothing for you to be sorry for…c'mon, you'll make it through…"

"I'm sorry…for lettin' you down…you're my broth…I should be protectin' ya…" he slurred, telling Sam that the fight was getting harder.

"You did, Dean. You have, and you know you still can. You're not gonna die…I won't let you. C'mon, goddammit…please, Dean…fight…"

"I…can't…" he closed his eyes, his hands tightening their grip on Sam's shirt as the pain once again wracked his body.

"I love ya…little…brothe…"

His body fell limp in Sam's arms, and his head flopped to one side, his eyes slowly opening once more before closing, and this time, Sam knew it was for good.

"No, Dean. Not now. C'mon, man…I still need you…I'm still here…"

The tears fell as they always did, but this time, they were real and hopeless. Sam knew it, Dean was gone.

"Dean…" he whimpered.

He shook his brother's lifeless body and clenched his jaw as the reality of the situation that he couldn't escape from poked at his mind.

"DON'T LEAVE ME HERE, DEAN!! ANSWER ME…C'MON!"

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Sam awoke with a start, his own shout making him jump. He scrubbed a hand down his face, alarming himself to feel quite so much sweat on his forehead.

Yet another nightmare. He'd been plagued by these terrible dreams, Dean dying night after night, every time Sam getting there too late, and waking himself up with his own scream.

He sat up in the hard chairs, and allowed the monotonous bleeping to once again infiltrate his mind. Dean lay sleeping on the bed, but Sam knew that this sleep wasn't by choice. Dean hadn't woken up for days, and he had come into the hospital a week ago. He was hooked up to god-knows what and once again had become acquainted with the bluish pipe now stuck down his throat.

Sam ran a weary hand through his ruffled hair, and sighed heavily. The moment when Dean's body had fallen limp in his arms, the moment when he had been carried out of that bar, and the moment where Sam heard the world crash down around him as Dean clinically died all came back to haunt his tired features now. He had almost lost Dean so many times and Sam would've thought that he'd know what to do, and know what to say by now. But he didn't. He was as lost as ever.

He moved towards Dean and placed his hand in his brother's, telling him that now was as good a time as any to wake up and set his heart at rest.

Sam had a whole new feeling in his stomach now. He had watched his brother fight for his life numerous times, too many times, but it had never really been his fault before.

"Sam?" a gruff voice drew the young hunter away from the guilt swirling in the pit of his stomach, and he turned to look at his father as he stood in the doorway.

Sam had never been so pleased to see his dad.

"Dad" he ran to him but stopped in front, unsure what to do. They weren't exactly the hugging types.

"I got here as quick as I could, the hunt…" How the hunt went Sam never found out as the words died in his dad's mouth. John had truly rushed to the hospital, had rushed as soon as he got Sam's message, but he had a feeling that he hadn't been quick enough.

He strode to his eldest son's side, and sat, his eyes surveying each machine or attachment linked to Dean with a sad expression.

_Not again..._

"Oh what mess have you got yourself into now, Dean?" he sighed and gently laid a hand on Dean's arm. He couldn't face losing his son, not now, not ever. Not to some stupid bar brawl. It was a little ironic surely, with all the things that Dean faced day in day out, the thing that was about to kill him was a man. A stupid man in a vicious bar brawl.

John grunted to himself. Hadn't he always taught Dean to walk away from situations like that? He used to believe that Dean listened but apparently not.

John knew the minute he took this hunt that he shouldn't have left. Just a routine hunt, Dean said, just a little spirit to kill that's all. John had been constantly reassured by the hunter that he would be fine, more than fine. But Dean was always throwing caution to the wind, and it was starting to worry him. He knew something was going to happen, and still he had left.

Why had he trusted Dean to look after himself? If he had been there, John would've stopped all this nonsense. When would Dean realise that his temper was nothing to respect, that it needed to be quelled.

"Christ, Dean!" he stood up and kicked the chair away from him in his frustration. He couldn't help it. Why could Dean never see the consequences? He would throw his life away like it was nobody's business, just to save his family, to keep it together. John could assume that this fight was no different. Something was probably said by the other party that had insulted the familial part of Dean's mind and BAM!, Dean would be rolling around on the floor, throwing punches like freaking Rocky. Only better.

"Dad, it wasn't his fault. The guy was an asshole…he said stuff…about mom." Sam winced, he knew reminding his father of Mary always opened up old wounds, but he couldn't let Dean die with his father thinking that it was his fault.

John's shoulders tensed. He was right. Dean had flown off the handle, but John couldn't blame him this time.

After all, he guessed that was something he got from his father. Since Mary had died, been killed, John had been nothing but angry. Hell, sometimes he had even forgotten to be a father. But he had managed to find a way to stop himself from treading down that path, he had got back to Sam and Dean one way or another. He had long learnt that the only healthy way to allow anger was to let it loose on something that deserved it. The evil that they hunted every single day, for example.

He flopped back down onto the hard plastic chair, legs barely keeping him upright anymore. He was exhausted. With hunting, with the loneliness and with the constant battle to keep his son's alive. Surely it shouldn't be this hard…

Dean tended to stay away from conflict, John thought. Yeah, he had a temper, but he would hardly ever show it, especially not in front of Sammy. The hunter would never let Sam see a full on bar brawl, Dean keeping his brother safe at all times, a feat he had kept up since the age of 4. But some fat drunk had gone and put himself in the way and now Dean was lying in hospital, dying in front of his freaking eyes.

John growled.

He was really furious now. Not at his son anymore, but at the life he had brought upon him. A god-damned pathetic life, where Dean thought it was his duty to protect his family, when it wasn't his duty at all. It was John's. But John was always too busy avenging Mary's death, too busy trying to redeem himself. He had been since the second he had sat with his son's watching his house burn down with his wife inside. It should have been him.

No wonder Dean was angry all the time, anger was all he had ever known.

He looked at his son's motionless form, and studied the peace that adorned Dean's features. Features that reminded John of Mary every day, and that were soon to make many a girl swoon. He wasn't going to let this brawler ruin his son's life. He was going to make it right. Once and for all.

"Sam, what happened that night?"

"Dad-" Sam didn't want to repeat it aloud. That might make it true. The whole story had been replaying in his mind for ages now, and he couldn't live through the action replay again but one sound of the command in John's voice made him spit out the words that now seemed like barbed wire to his lips.

"Sam…Tell me."

"Dean tried to stop, but the guy kept going. Dean was winning, Dad, you'd have been proud. But I asked him to stop…I tried to keep him away. But the guy had a knife. Dad…it was my fault not Dean's." Sam swallowed.

"Blame me…"

John clenched his jaw and stood up again, pacing the floor beside Dean's bed.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I couldn't let Dean fight anymore. I'd never seen him like that…Dad! Please, look at me!"

John whirled around and faced Sammy, baring his teeth as he spat out his anger.

"When will you stop being so selfish, Sam? It's all about you… Why didn't you leave it for once, boy!? He could have won, he could be alive now! Instead of propped up by machines…He does everything for you…everything! You've never seen him like that, cos he never lets ya see him like that! He protects you and you don't even know it…"

Sam looked down at the floor. He already felt awful and now he was being force fed guilt by his own father. He tried to focus on the fact that his dad didn't mean it deep down, but that didn't stop the words being so harsh.

John just couldn't stop himself. He needed to blame someone and Sam was there. He was about to have to say goodbye to his eldest son, whom he had sworn to protect the moment Mary had handed him into his arms, and nothing could stop him throwing his anger around, no matter how misdirected it was.

"You know what you've done?! ...You've killed him!" John snarled through gritted teeth.

Silence fell between father and son as the dust settled. John and Sam both felt so alone, but both were so caught up in their own guilt that they didn't dare unite for fear of blame. And Sam had been blamed.

John didn't want to think, even entertain the idea of Dean not being there, but it was so easily progressing from thought to reality. An event that should have been avoided, that had happened in a matter of seconds. Something that was going to live forever in the hunters' mind fuelled by What If's.

Sam bit the inside of his cheeks. He wouldn't let himself cry, he knew John was right. It was his fault. Dean had been winning for goodness sake. If he hadn't spoken, if he'd kept quiet like he was supposed to, then maybe they'd be back at a crappy motel watching cheap TV and arguing over who gets to ride shotgun in Dad's next big adventure.

"I'm sorry" he muttered. "I'll make this right."

He didn't know how, but he would. He had to leave his father and Dean be, for the moment and try to cause less damage for once.

John wiped the tear from his eye, and swung round the minute he heard the door slam. Sam had left. It took a lot to force Sam to leave his brother, especially when he was so close to never seeing his brother again. John closed his eyes. It barely dawned on him how brutal he had been but still, he could have decked himself for being so pig-headed.

It was now that John finally heard the words that he had said to his youngest and finally understood how cutting he had been. Sam had most probably been torturing himself for days over this, and now his own dad had gone and opened those wounds up wider, and stretched them further.

_Some father you are, Winchester…_

There had been no need to blame Sammy and now he was on the brink of losing both son's, not just the one that was laid broken on the bed.

John exhaled and ran across the room, throwing the door open, hoping that Sam had thought twice, slowed down. He called his youngest son's name down the corridor hoping to see a face peek round the corner so that John could make everything right again, but alas, Sam had gone.

And John couldn't leave Dean to find him.

All he could do was worry.

And he sure would. There would be much more to worry about than hurt feelings soon.


	3. Chapter 3

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I'm really enjoying writing this story and for some reason I have abosulutely no trouble firing out the chapters. Yet. haha x Anyway, thanks everyone for reading so far adn thanks hugely for all the kind reviews! you are all so kind! again, if dean was mine, i'd send him round for manly hugs. and if you all review again, i might send sammy too. 2 for 1 bargain. For one baby review..(sammy eyes)

(A/N: the first scene is like a dream, that jerks dean into subconsiousness lol)

_So read on and lets hope it meets with all expectations..._

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3

"Sam!"

Dean ran to his brother's side, catching him as his knees buckled. The rain was falling heavily from the sky and Dean carried his brother's weight to the ground, his knees sinking into the mud. A heavy mist was setting across the wood, and Dean couldn't see further than his brother. Sam's head lolled away from him, but Dean cupped it in a hand and pulled it toward him. He needed Sam to see him now.

"C'mon, Sammy!" he cried, watching as Sam fought to open his eyes.

Sam whimpered.

"I'm…scared…Dean." His voice was weak and Dean had to lean in to hear it and his heart split in one short crack the moment he heard the fear attached to Sammy's quiet voice.

"It's okay, Sam, don't be scared. I'll look after you…You'll be okay…" he tried so hard to make Sam believe him, but the truth was, he didn't quite believe it himself.

Sam grabbed the front of his older brother's t-shirt.

"S'dark, Dean…Help…"

Dean's hand moved straight to the one clutching at his chest and he clasped it, holding tight. He couldn't dare to let go.

"Feel that, Sammy?...Yeah, see that's me, Sam, I'm here…I always will be I promise…I'm here…"

"Don't ll—eave me…" Sam was pleading with his big brother now, shivers wracking his feeble body.

Dean squeezed the hand tighter, biting his lip as Sam squeezed back, albeit weakly.

"Listen to me, listen…I ain't ever gonna leave you…not ever…"

"Scared…" Sam repeated, growing paler by the second.

"Sam, do you trust me?" No response.

Dean shook him. He couldn't lose him, not now. Not before he had said goodbye.

"Do you trust me, Sammy?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Good boy, you stay with me, okay? I promise you Sammy, as long as my hand is here, as long as I live, I will never leave you. There's no need to be scared…I've gotcha little brother, I'm here…" Tears rolled down his cheeks. The fear in Sam's eyes, the hopelessness felt like a hundred daggers had been pierced through Dean's heart.

"C-cold" he stammered, feeling at least a little comfort from Dean's thumb calmly stroking the back of his hand.

Dean said nothing. He didn't know what to say now. There was nothing he could do.

He pulled his brother closer, held his dying body closer.

He knew what he had to say. He would never forgive himself if it was left unsaid.

Sam could feel the words coming, and he knew now there was no hope. He and Dean had to say their goodbyes, no matter how much it scared them.

"Sam Winchester, I know you're scared…and I know its bad…but you listen to me now, okay? I am so proud to have you as my little brother, and I…I…don't want to…I can't say it…but I love you, Sammy. Love you forever…I will always be there for you…promise…"

Sam opened his eyes as wide as he could and drew as much strength as he could muster.

He swallowed, hard.

"Love…" His eyes closed slowly, for one last time and his body fell limp in Dean's grasp.

Dean pulled him into his chest fully, holding his brother's head to his shoulder and bit back the tears, the sobs that just wanted to free themselves from his chest.

He stroked Sam's hair and after one sob escaped, more followed, stifled at least by his brother's jacket.

"SAM!"

* * *

_Out of the darkness and into the light...Dean jerked awake…into some part of his mind at least…where was he?_

Dean felt alone. And helpless. And all he could really physically sense was the huge pit in his stomach. He knew that meant only one thing. Sammy was in trouble.

"_Come back to me, Dean…Don't leave me…"_

That was Dad, he knew the gravely voice anywhere. He sounded lost. Which was the worst thing to ever hear from John Winchester. He only ever used that tone when someone couldn't be saved, when there was no more to be done. Were people giving up?

"_Son, wake up…I need you. Sammy needs you…not now. Come back…"_

Sam needs me, I know. Dad, why aren't you helping him. He's hurting…I don't know why. I can't get him, Dad, please, leave me. Help Sam.

"_Mr Winchester, I'm sorry. Dean isn't responding to tre-."_

Don't listen, Dad, don't you give up on me. I'll get back. Somehow. I promised Sam I'd be there. He needs us, Dad. I promised.

"_I'm not giving up on him…he's a fighter...always has been…"_

John sounded resolute, and Dean was relieved. But the pit in his stomach kept making itself known, and the darkness that Dean had emerged from was creeping back. He let it encompass him once more, but was alarmed at what he saw, what he could feel.

_Sam lying dead, dead in my arms, scared...he's so scared…_

Dean jerked back into the light and tried to cry out, to get some help. Sam needed help now, but he didn't know where he was.

He tried to move but nothing happened. He couldn't connect with his limbs, let alone the other side, as it were.

Hissing with exasperation, he tried to move his hand, sensing at least some warmth there. He could feel skin. He could feel his father's touch. He concentrated as hard as he could. He had to get to Sammy…

He was being torn, torn from the light, a pain in the centre of his chest as he finally gained some movement. He was getting there…

* * *

John sat beside his son. The doctor said it was no use, the doctor said Dean couldn't tell anymore, he never would be able to again. But John couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. Dean would survive. Dean didn't know the meaning of the word death. And he wouldn't die. Not if there was something left fighting for.

_Sam…_

John wished Sam was there. Sam needed to say goodbye. And whatever shape his head was in at the moment, John knew it wasn't good. He knew because it was his fault, his fault for getting angry at the wrong person. He knew Sam needed him right now. And more to the point, he needed Sam.

"Dean, if ever there was a time for you to come back, it's now. The doctors…they say…they say there's no point now…but we know different don't we? Hmm?" John Winchester gulped as he spoke to his son.

"Dean…" John planted his warm hand inside Dean's cold one, gently squeezing it. He needed to know his son was there, he needed to feel his skin again.

He closed his eyes, and let the tear fall, finally realising that he might have to give up. He couldn't say goodbye but he had to. There was nothing left to do now.

He opened his mouth to say the dreaded word, but all that escaped was a gasp. His hand flew to his mouth as he watched his son's hand.

_It couldn't be…_

_His finger…_

He watched, not even letting himself blink for fear of missing it.

He exhaled the minute he saw it. Dean's finger definitely moved. And it wasn't just a twitch. It was a flex, a stretch.

John laughed. It wasn't the time to be laughing, Dean wasn't awake yet, but he was alive. John had been on the brink of letting go, of finally saying goodbye but Dean had saved him. More than he'd ever know.

_He's alive!! Alive!! He moved…ALIVE!!_

John's hand flew to his head, and he doubled up, expelling a screech as he started laughing hysterically. Dean was alive, and no word could ever explain the relief washing over John right now.

His son was alive! And soon he was gonna be kicking. John was counting on it.

Before John could even comprehend properly what just happened, he saw something he wouldn't have ever believed a minute ago. Dean's eyes snapped open, full of worry and fear. The bleeping on the monitor became erratic and he began to gag, his back arcing.

Calling for help, John slid to his eldest's side, kneeling there, pulling hold of Dean's hand, thanking god for this miracle, thanking his wife for looking out for his son. John had always been an agnostic, but Dean certainly had someone watching over him. And it made his father feel better to believe it was Mary.

"Dean, it's okay…Dad's here…I've gotcha…Don't fight it, Dean! Calm now, let it breathe for you…c'mon Dean, calm…"

He stroked his son's hand with his thumb and was shocked to see the intense unease on Dean's face increase. All the movements, all the words John was saying to offer comfort were too familiar. And John knew what those eyes were searching for…

_Sammy…_

Medical staff ran in and John was forced away as they set about calming the young man down, set about stabilising him. They could barely believe it themselves, but they knew nothing of the mind flip John was going through. He had been convinced Dean was dead, he had been told so, and now, all of a sudden, all his silent, desperate prayers had been answered.

John looked around, for a second forgetting that he was alone. He needed to tell someone, to celebrate but there was no one to tell in Sam's absence. The absence John had caused.

Sam would be out of his mind with worry, but John didn't know where to start looking. He had called his youngest son's cell phone but there was no reply. Countless messages had been left, but still nothing. He hadn't heard from him in days, and John couldn't leave Dean's side. For a start, Sam wouldn't forgive him if he did.

He watched as the medical staff obscured his view and took the opportunity to release himself from the chaos in the room. He ran outside, plucking his phone from his jean pocket and dialling as fast as he could.

He heard the ringing of Sam's phone screaming at him repetitively but no answer. His heart leapt at the sound of his son's voice, but it fell again when he realised it was just the voicemail.

Sighing he left another message.

"Sammy, Dean's back! Son, he's awake. But he needs you…Please come back as soon as you get this…for Dean."

John was about to hang up, but there was one thing he needed to say before he did.

"I'm sorry Sam. What I said was wrong, heartless. I didn't mean it at all, not one iota, but Sam…we both need you…It wasn't your fault. So…yeah, come back as soon as, son. Dean's alive!"

He exhaled sadly as he pressed his phone shut. He hoped Sam would get it, and more than anything he hoped Sam would forgive, and come back. Dean would never look at his father again, if Sam left for good.

He moved back into the hospital, running back into Dean's room and feeling a restraining hand on his shoulder. It was the Doctor.

"Mr Winchester, we've just settled Dean. Against all the odds, he's now awake, but these next few days are still critical, I'm afraid. You must understand, he isn't out of the woods yet. We'll do our best though, and keep a close eye on him…"

He removed his hands and held open the door to let John pass.

"We managed to stabilise him for now, and let it be known that he's done extremely well to come this far…he must have-,"

"An angel watching over him," John interrupted. He nodded. "He has. Thanks, Doc."

He moved back into the room, where Dean lay, his eyes closed. John pulled up the chair close, and placed his palm over Dean's fist.

Dean looked to the side, and opened his eyes slowly.

John knew immediately what Dean was asking.

"Sam's okay, Dean," he lied, praying that he was right. "He's just popped out, but he's fine, I promise. Let's just worry about you for a change, let's get you better, 'kay, buddy?"

He offered his son a reassuring smile.

Dean nodded, seemingly content with his father's answer, or at least far too weak and tired to argue and he let his eyes drift close, falling into the sleep his exhausted body craved.

John leant back in his chair and sighed. All was well. He hoped.

_Now just let Sammy come back, and then I'll know…_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4 at last...sorry bout the wait, i am crap haha xxx but here you go, hope it doesn't disappoint. keep up the kind reviewing, they really rock my boat :) and thanks for reading too :) xxx_

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Sam trudged along the side of the road, kicking the gravel that littered his path. A car beeped as the young man strayed into the road a little, distracted by his thoughts. He glared at the car, and barely noticed as the car came behind and splashed a puddle up his leg.

"Fucking hell!" he swore, jumping and clenching his jaw angrily at the audacity of the teenage boy leaning out and laughing maniacally at him.

He swiped at his leg, examining the mud that had splashed up his leg. He had been walking for hours, not a clue where he was headed. It felt like days since he had left Dean, and his heart was still hurting.

He walked until his long legs ached, ignoring the neon signs blazing in his head, telling him to return to the hospital. But he could not ignore that feeling of guilt and loss building up inside of him.

Without even noticing where he was going, he ended up in a familiar parking lot. He swayed a little as he thought of the last time he was here.

_They muttered some medical jargon across to each other, and the alarm and urgency on their faces was more than obvious. Sam could barely keep up. Dean was being carried away, his blood still staining the bar room carpet, paramedics' hands covered in the stuff. Surely there couldn't be enough left in Dean._

_Sam's legs shook as he fought to put one in front of the other. He looked behind him as he left nothing but a few stragglers and nosy idiots craning to see Dean being carted away. He was truly alone without Dean at his side. He knew what it was like at last, to have nothing backing you up. Right now, he could really do with his brother telling him he would be okay._

_He ran after the ambulance, hearing shouting as he drew up to it._

"_Shit, he's flatlined"_

_Sam couldn't breathe. He had no idea what the hell was happening, only that Dean was dying in front of his eyes. _

_Tears rolled. This couldn't be it. Not now. Not in some stupid bar brawl. He raised his hands to his face, almost praying. _

"_No…c'mon, bro…" he muttered to himself, almost like a mantra. Dean couldn't die. He didn't die. That was just the way it was._

_His hoping wasn't enough. Minutes seemed to pass like hours, until finally, when Sam had just about given up, thought all was lost, he heard the gratuitous sound of a beep. And then another one. More followed. Dean was alive!! At last._

_Sam sighed, and his eyes closed, and the next thing he knew, he had a pair of arms around his shoulders, bracing him as he fell into them._

"_C'mon, we best get you and your brother to hospital. You need to be checked over.."_

"_But Dean…" These were the only words Sam could muster. _

_He watched as Dean was ploughed through the hospital corridors, the echo of the swinging doors to the ICU all to clear in Sam's mind. _

_He wanted his dad. He wanted his dad in a way that he was sure he hadn't for a long time. He needed that safety, that contact that only a father can offer. He went outside, unwilling to wait for another minute inside the institution that his big brother despised. He had a call to make._

_The phone rang, endlessly. Never stopping. Sam almost hung up._

_His heart leapt._

"_This is John Winchester…"_

"_Dad!"_

"…_I can't be reached…"_

_Sam's body slumped. His dad wasn't talking. He had no idea where he was, no idea if he could even be alive. How could he tell his dad that Dean was dying? And that if he didn't get there soon, it might be too late. Hell, it might be too late now._

"_Dad, it's me. Sam. Um, it's Dean…he's in hospital…serious…please just get here. I can't tell you all this over the phone. We're in St Mary's Hospital…you know which. We came here when I was 6. Head injury, remember? Anyway, we need you. Both of us….Dean might die, Dad, please come back to us…"_

_He hung up, hoping that John might pick up his messages sooner rather than later. He ran back inside, as a doctor approached. Looking grave. And directly at Sam. All he could do was wait._

This was the last time. The last time Sam would watch his brother suffer at the hands of an idiot who could barely string a sentence together, and it was the last time Sam wouldn't do anything about it. He was gonna get that bastard, He didn't care what it took.

"CHARLIE!" he screamed, as a drop of water fell through the overshadowing trees. Birds flew from their nests as Sam hollered into the parking lot.

"CHARLIE! COME AND GET ME TOO, YOU SON OF A BITCH…"

People filtered out of the bar, one by one all staring curiously at Sam. He continued to shout into the clouds of rain, looking for the one man that hadn't yet appeared.

"CHARLIE!"

"He's inside, son," Said an old man to the left of him, looking on sad at the young boy seeming so lost in front of him. He too remembered the night when Sam and his brother had walked into the bar, laughs etched on their faces, that despite the smiles seemed to hold sadness. He had shivered as Sam walked past him, Dean walking to get the beers. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on, something about these two boys haunted him. He had watched as Charlie, a boy he had watched grow up into the violent man he had become, plunged the knife into Dean's side, watched as his little brother held back the tears, refusing to let go until the paramedics prised him away. It was so harrowing, worse than anything he'd ever witnessed.

Sam shook his head. Charlie was going to have to come and get him. Sam would set foot in that hell hole again. How could he bear to see that carpet stained by his brother's blood? How could he bear to go into the place where he brother was injured…maybe even killed, Sam didn't know. All he knew now, was that he needed to do something about it. Hurt the damned evil bastard that had hurt Dean. He wouldn't let Dean go like this. Sam would fight, even if his big brother couldn't.

"CHARLIE! COME ON! FACE ME!"

Sam felt the rain pour into his hair, drip down his bangs and fall into his eyes. He stood resolute, feeling a bit like Ned Kelly as he faced his enemies. He was waiting. And he would continue to wait as long as Charlie remained in that bar.

As if his mind had willed it so, the large door swung open, and Charlie stood there, a bold smirk upon his face, as he leant against the doorframe.

"Ha, well, look at what the cat couldn't be bothered to drag in…" he taunted, his voice pounding through the rain.

"Fuck you…my brother's dying…" he swallowed hard, fighting the tears as he thought of the brother that he had left, forgotten to say goodbye to because he was wound up in his own guilt. The brother that could be lying cold in the morgue right now. And Sam felt ashamed. He wasn't there.

"Aww, what do you want me to do about it? Hmm? Sorry, _pal_, but I guess he should have thought twice about messing with me…"

Sam blinked back the tears, his whole body now shaking with both anger and cold. This guy, this son of a bitch that had hurt Dean, killed him, didn't even care. Wasn't even sorry. Well, Sam supposed he was sorry enough for the both of them.

The crowd gasped at the bartenders remarks, the old man shaking his head, wondering how on earth this town had sunk so low. No one seemed to want to help the young man in front of them, all they could do was watch.

"You son of a bitch" Sam murmured. His voice cracked. Dean was dead…he convinced himself of that.

He threw himself at Charlie. He whacked and pummelled every inch of his body, tears fighting their way out of their barricades.

"My brother…dead…killed…" words croaked out as Sam felt restraining arms around his shoulders.

"Son, he's not worth it…your brother wouldn't want to see you like this…"

It was the old man from before.

Sam let him pick him up, blood staining his knuckles as Charlie's face shined with malice.

Sam couldn't help it. He let the man pull him into an embrace, sobbed onto the stranger's shoulders.

"I…want…Dean" He cried, his back arcing, tremors straining through his body. The man held him closer. He didn't know why, but this boy needed a fathers help. A father he didn't guess he had.

Sam shook, breathing harshly. He couldn't hold it back any longer. Dean was actually dead. How could he be alive? He was a mere memory, a photograph that would soon become dated as the rest of the world moved on.

He was forced from the man's calm embrace.

"Stay out of this, Geoff. This dickchimney is mine…"

"Charlie, no. When did you become so hate filled?"

"Shut it."

"No, I won't. You killed his brother. Have some compassion… What would your mother say…"

Charlie swung round, and knocked Geoff to the ground.

"You shut up about my mother. She died. Get used to it."

Geoff made to argue, but the bartender drew back his fist and planted one so hard against the old man's jaw that he couldn't fight no more.

"Now for you, emo boy…" he looked evilly in Sam's direction. He was so warped and now Sam just couldn't fight back. He couldn't bear to be alive and hurting if Dean was dead. He didn't mind if Charlie killed him. He wanted him to.

He closed his eyes. He waited for the sucker punch. He doubled over as a knee thudded into his stomach. He groaned but did not resist. Another low blow as Charlie brought his fist against Sam's jaw. Sam's knees buckled with the tumult of pain took over.

"Hit me…"

Charlie did.

"Kill me."

Charlie would have, had it not been for the plank thrown against his head. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Son…"

Geoff knelt beside the pale young man, seeing once again the haunting youth adorning Sam's face, a youth that had seen too much.

"I'm fine." Sam replied shortly, his breath still coming in short bursts. He wasn't going to see Dean, at least not in this lifetime, and so he couldn't quite bring himself to thank the old man for saving him. Dean should be doing that.

He stood up, wincing. He tasted blood as a cut at his temple oozed, and he could feel the bruises contract painfully. He was too weak for this. But he was too angry to collapse.

He stumbled forward, ignoring the pleas of the old man behind him.

"Stay here. Look after yourself. Please. Let me help you."

Sam continued walking into the woods that stood at the side of the parking lot. He needed to get lost.

His phone rang. He couldn't remember turning it on.

His eyes drooping with exhaustion and pain, he wriggled his phone from his jean pocket.

Bobby.

"Bbby." He whispered.

"Hey, Sam. Good to hear from you. I don't s'pose ya father is wit' ya, is he?"

So Bobby hadn't heard. Typical John. One son dead, the other missing, yet still he hadn't let anyone know. But of course, he could deal with all this on his own. Stubborn ass.

"No. He isn't. I don't know where he is."

"Sam? You don't sound too good. Whats happened?"

Bobby loved these sons like they were his own, and he could tell when something was wrong. And he didn't think he'd heard desperation in Sam's voice like he heard now.

"I … can't …stand it…Bobby…" The tears began to fall again as Sam remembered why he was alone in the first place.

"Sam?"

"Dean…dead…" he sobbed.

Bobby was taken aback.

"Son, what?" his voice wavered, praying he had misheard.

"Dead, Bobby. Gone."

"No," Bobby breathed. He closed his eyes. He couldn't believe it. And John hadn't even called.

"What about your pappy? He's okay?"

Sam released a hollow laugh.

"Yeah, he's okay. I let him down. I killed Dean. He said it himself…"

"John said that?" Bobby shook his head and scrubbed a life wearied hand down his face. This situation was truly terrible. Something he had not bargained on when he dialled. He wished that he hadn't. He swallowed. Dean had died. He couldn't begin to imagine the agony Sam was going through. Those boys were so close…

Sam merely grunted in response.

"Sam, you listen to me and you listen well. Your daddy didn't mean this. He was just angry Sam. And I know you are too, but that's why you need each other. Do you think Dean would have wanted you to feel like this? Do you think Dean would have let you and your dad split up?"

Silence.

"No. And Sammy, you should go back now. Go find John, say goodbye to Dean. You owe it to him. Hell, you owe it to yourself."

Sam nodded, and realised that Bobby couldn't see him.

"Yeah, Bobby. It's just…Dean…dead…I can't stand it," he bit his lip hard. He just wanted to fall down.

"I know, son. I know." Bobby hated this. Grief. It had to be the worst emotion known to man. Loving someone so much and then losing them so quickly. And then all you feel is this dark pit inside of you that you can't seem to escape from. Its almost claustrophobic. And the only thing that can ever make it alright again is the person that you lost.

"Bobby. I'm not going back. Not if Dean's not there…I can't," Sam said with decided determination on his face. He knew that Bobby wanted him back with his father but he couldn't do it. Not even for Dean. Too much had happened for them to ever grieve together anymore. Dean had died.

"At least tell me where you are. Let me come and get you…let me look after you if you won't let your daddy…"

"No, Bobby. Gotta find my own way. No one left to protect me…can't let anyone…Dean…" Sam murmured, his thoughts constantly broken with the image of his dying brother.

"Sam."

"No Bobby. It's okay. Had to learn someday…"

"No, Sam, you didn't. Dean was there, your dad…c'mon, come home…"

"I haven't got one. Look, the only thing left for me to do is hunt the nearest son of a bitch and let hell know Dean's comin', okay?"

"You're going on a hunt?"

"Uhuh. The only thing I can do now. Release hell on some bastard that deserves it…"

Sam's violent tone was scaring Bobby now. He sounded more like Dean than Sam. Sam was the safe one, the only reasonable Winchester out there, and Bobby didn't like the idea of him going off the rails. Not if it meant he ended up dead.

"Sam…"

"Bye, Bobby."

Sam hung up and Bobby hung his head. That goodbye was too sudden. And the problem was, the older hunter wasn't sure if the goodbye was permanent.

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	5. Chapter 5

_Long time, no update! I'm so sorry it's been SO long. I've been pretty swamped with work and other sadly realistic things that the Winchester world has had to be put on hold. Anyway, hopefully it won't be as long between updates anymore. I have an official plot line now too so YAY. Progress is a beautiful thing. _

_Also, if waiting for an update on my other two oh-so-long running stories, Jackpot and Family Matters Most, its going to be a bit longer cos I'm going to try to finish one story at a time. Sorry if you've given up on me. But thanks for sticking with me for this long._

_Thanks to Jessica for being my sweetie and beta xx_

_(A/N the bold bit at the start is Dean interrupting Sam's recording.)_

_Without further ado, Enjoy! **AND DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW pleaseeeee :)**_

_

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Chapter 5

_This is Sam. __**Sammy**__. Shut up Dean. This is Sam, leave a message. __**Unless you're a girl, in which case leave your number and your bra size…**__DEAN!_

John winced as he slammed the phone shut, the sound of his sons bickering on Sam's voicemail echoing in his ears. Dean was getting more coherent by the day. He wanted to know where Sam had gone. And John wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep the truth away from his injured son.

He didn't know where Sam was. He'd been missing for just over a week. John had phoned all the hunters he knew in the area, hoping they might have seen him. But no one had.

John ran a weary hand down his face, rubbing at his beard. How was he going to break it to Dean that Sam was missing?

John's heart was breaking for the both of them. Every time he perused the local papers, for sightings, for anything that might lead to Sam, his heart would skip a beat when he passed the obituaries. He didn't want his son to become ink, bold print, and not even have been able to say goodbye, or publish his sorrow like the wives and husbands and parents tended to do.

He paced Dean's hospital room, dreading the next time Dean would wake up, because this time he didn't know what he was going to say.

He pulled out his phone quietly, and ran through the contacts list, eyes desperately searching for someone who might have been in touch with his youngest.

And then it dawned on him.

_Singer._

They hadn't spoken for a while, an argument blown way out of proportion, but even so. Sam would turn to Bobby. He knew it.

Walking out into the corridor, and closing the door softly behind him, failing to slam it in case Dean came to, he dialled the familiar number.

"_Yeah." _Came the memorable drawl of his old friend.

"Bobby, it's John"

"_Finally. I think you must have changed your number without telling me, I've been trying to get in touch for about a week." Bobby sounded sad._

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, but I need your help. Dean's hurt and…"

"_Hurt? John…have you been drinking?"_

"What?! No. Of course I haven't. It's Dean…he's really hurt bad, in hospital as we speak and…"

"_Winchester, stop it! Where are ya? Let me come and help ya…I know its tough…but you and Sammy…"_

John's ears pricked up at the sound of his youngest's name.

"Sam? What about him? Have you heard from him?"

"_So you haven't? Damn I was hoping he'd be back with you by now_…"

"When, Bobby? What did he say?"

"_What do you think he said? His brother's dead, John…he's hurting. And I don't know what you're going through, I can't begin to understand it, but Dean's gone. You need to keep what's left of your family together."_

John was only able to blink through his friend's last words. Dead? Dean wasn't dead.

"_John? You there?"_

"Yeah, I'm here. Bobby, my son isn't dead."

"_John please…"_

"No, he actually isn't. I mean, it was touch and go for a while but he's alive. He's going to be just fine."

"_Then how did Sammy get it into his head that he had died?"_

"I don't kn-oh" realisation pinned John's features. "I sent him away. I was so angry…I thought Dean was going to die…it wasn't Sam's fault but I just about said it was…I sent him away. Oh, Bobby what have I done?!"

"_Ya big idjit! That's your son you were talking to. Do you have any idea what it must have been like for him?! Waiting at Dean's bedside for your sorry ass to show up! And then when you do turn up, you blast his ass for something he didn't do?! You don't see do you?! Sammy loves his brother more that life itself…and he was watching him die too, just like you thought you were…Oh if I was there, I'd blast you so full of buckshot you wouldn't sit down for a freakin' year…"_

"Bobby, I don't need you to tell me what I've done…oh fuck…how the hell am I going to tell Dean? I need to find my son. Did he say where he was?"

"_No, I couldn't get it out of him. But John he was so upset. He thought you had said that he killed Dean…he sounded so freakin' hopeless. He said he was going on a hunt…"_

"A hunt? Alone? Jesus, what is he thinking?! He's only 18 for goodness sake!"

"_Christ John you should have thought about that before you blamed him for something he was already blaming himself for.!"_

"Right…oh fuck" John ran a hand down his stubble worn face.

"What am I going to do, Bobby?"

"_Well, I'm pretty sure Sam wouldn't let this bastard go scott free. Start at the bar this mess started at. John, you best start thinking, and thinking hard…Sam's gonna need you before the end."_

"Yeah…Thanks Bobby. I'm sorry."

"_Tell Sam, not me. Oh and John?"_

"Yeah?"

"_Thank god Dean's alive."_

"I know…" he laughed bitterly, "I know…I just hope Sam is too."

And with that, he flipped his phone closed and he turned on his heel to return to Dean's side. And hoping that he'd see his son awake, he was disappointed. Dean wasn't awake. He wasn't even in his bed.

**

* * *

**_Shit, I don't feel so good…_

Slowly, Dean opened his eyes, wincing at the overhead lights. He groaned loudly and looked around the room, surprised to see his father absent. Worriedly, his eyes began to dart about faster, and he thought he wouldn't be able to breathe. But he heard the gruff murmurs from beyond the door that told him his father was there. He hadn't left him.

Dean didn't know what he would do if his family left him. Sometimes he had nightmares about how Sam disappearing and his father deserting him, and he couldn't bear it. He'd do whatever it took to keep the family together, he'd do anything.

Dean sank deeper in the pillows, groaning as his head pounded, wishing his dad would come back in and offer the comfort of his touch, wishing Sam was beside him to offer comfort that he wouldn't have to plead for because Sam would already know he needed it.

Dean hadn't seen Sam since he had woken up. It was worrying him. John kept avoiding the topic but Dean wasn't sure how much longer he could let him do so. He hadn't exactly been up to interrogating him yet, but as each day saw his strength grow that little bit more, Dean was more than ready to find out where his brother had been.

Dean was terrified that Sam blamed him for the fight. It was all his fault, it was only meant to be one celebration drink and Dean had to flirt with some random girl. Dean couldn't remember much from that night but he remembered the stricken look on Sam's face as he had fallen, he remembered Sam's voice echoing, calling out for help. And then nothing. Dean would never forgive himself for putting Sam in such a position. He just had to hope Sam was okay with him.

His dad was lowering his voice, talking in hushed tones.

_Sam, _Dean thought, _Sam's out there. Maybe dad's filling him in…or…or arguing._

Dean's heart sank at the latter. Not feeling at all up to it, he sat up slowly, closing his eyes to the spinning of the room.

He lowered the railings on his bed, and swung his legs over, wincing as each movement seemed to make his bones rattle. He untangled himself from the mass of wires and disabled the monitors. He was a old hand at breaking free from hospitals and he could put it to good use now.

He pulled his IV pole over to him and clung to it with all his strength. He placed a shaky foot onto the ground and smiled when his ankle didn't completely falter. He followed the step with the other foot and stood. He knew he's been too ambitious when he almost fell, crashing to the floor. He stood, crouched over at the waist, panting with the effort to keep himself upright but he managed it. Sweat began to linger on his forehead, but he needed to see Sam. Pain would wait. Sam couldn't.

Staggering and stumbling, he shuffled his way to the door, leaning against the frosted glass when he finally reached it.

His dad's gruff voice filtered through the door and Dean noted, with worry, the urgency in it.

Dean quickly realised there was no one speaking to his father, that his dad was using his phone.

Dean listened harder, opening the door a crack to glean what afflicted his father.

"_A hunt? Alone? Jesus, what is he thinking?! He's only 18 for goodness sake!"_

Dean shivered.

Sam had gone off alone.

Unprotected.

And his father had let him.

Dean made up his mind there and then. Sam needed help, and Dean was the only one who could get it to him.

He stumbled back to the bed, shakily standing upright and ignoring the feeling of lightheadedness infiltrating his body.

He grimaced as he pulled out his IV, a bead of blood slipping down his hand. Bending down, he swallowed the bile that tried to make itself known, and dug out the clothes from the cabinet beside him. Slowly and with determination Dean pulled on jeans and Sam's old Stanford hoodie, knowing that, as it was there, Sam would have brought it for him anyway when they had first made it to the hospital.

The boots seemed to take an age and when he returned to his favoured upright stance, his vision tunnelled and he didn't think he'd ever make it to Sam.

Ignoring the pain rippling across his back, trailing the knife wound back and forth, he exhaled and grabbed the bag his father had discarded since he had taken up his place by his son's side.

_And then letting the other one go missing._

Dean wished he had the strength to punch his father. He really did. Dean bit his tongue about most things, but right now, he wanted John to know exactly what he thought of him. Sam was the baby, the youngest Winchester, the one their mother had died for. He was the only redeeming thing about their lifestyle. He was something special and Dean knew he would never be what he was proud to be without Sammy at his side. And his father had lost him. He had left him.

Dean didn't need to be saved. He needed his family. He needed his dad to have followed Sammy the minute he'd gone missing.

He didn't forget the ibuprofen that John had left in the drawer for his headaches, and knew they would never be enough to quash the pain but at least it would be something. He'd be no good to Sam if he passed out before he got to him. And he would if the pain became too much more. He had nothing to keep him going but his brother anymore. Silently, he waited behind the door, his father walking in with his head down and Dean took his opportunity. He half didn't expect to get out, knowing his dad's instincts like the back of his hand, but Dean had, after all, learned from the master.

Stealthily, he slipped out from behind the door, and ignored all the worried glances from patients and visitors. He ducked behind the corner near the elevator as nurses and doctors flew past, thankfully ignoring him.

A code blue rang out and Dean sighed. They'd all be busy with that to notice him leaving. Thanking god a little bit and hoping whoever had crashed would still be okay after letting him shake the hospital loose, Dean slumped into the elevator, and before he knew it, he was staggering across the parking lot towards the glimmering Impala. Digging out his father's keys from his pocket, he unlocked the trunk and took some ammo and whatever weapons he thought he might need and yet wouldn't weigh him down too much.

Slinging the bag back on his shoulder, Dean wrote a note on the motel stationery that Sam had accumulated over the years of living from car to sleazy motel, almost wanting to laugh at his shaky handwriting as the pen quivered in his hand.

Finishing it up, he placed it gently under the windscreen wiper. He patted the trusted car and locked it up, replacing the keys into the bag he'd snatched from the hospital. He couldn't drive in this state so he'd have to catch the hospital bus into town, to start looking for Sam where he's last seen him. At the bar.

And so he walked off, sure his dad couldn't follow him easily, and settled down at the bus shelter, hoping Sam could wait the few hours it would take to reach him. Hoping he was alive.


	6. Chapter 6

_See I told you I had a plot line now! Anyways here is chapter 6. Enjoy :)_

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* * *

  
_

_He sits inside the stony shelter, pulling the threadbare and worn blanket around him._

_ He shivers as the heat from the day escapes into the cloudless night. _

_He's so lost._

_ He'd been on the trail of some creature for days, alone, following trails of cold blood and clawed tracks. _

_He hates being alone. No matter how much he tries to carry on, he can't shake the pit in his stomach. _

_The pit that tells him he should be somewhere else. _

_Grieving or something like it. Dean died. _

_There's nowhere he should be but at his brother's side. _

_Sam shivers more fiercely._

_ He hates his life. He feels so desperate. _

_Tears stain his face that has long since learnt to frown in the thirst for a smile that couldn't come. _

_Sam couldn't be strong. He just rocked in the as the rain poured._

_

* * *

  
_

John was going out of his mind. Dean had gone. He had no idea, when or how or why. Well he knew why…Sam. It had to be. Dean had been waiting for Sam for days and if the Sasquatch can't come to Dean, the Dean will go to the Sasquatch.

"Shit…." John breathed, noting all the items missing. Dean's clothes, the bag, hell, even the pain pills…Dean wasn't coming back to the hospital. John ran his hands through his hear and grunted.

He had not a clue where to even start. He didn't even know what state Dean was in but it couldn't be good.

"FUCK!" he shouted, gritting his teeth as he kicked the wall.

John was panicking now. He couldn't lose both of his sons.

He ran out into the corridor. He was looking around frantically, any sign of Dean.

A blonde nurse appeared at his arm, wearing concerned frown.

"Sir? Are you okay?"

He rounded on her, furious.

"Go look in that room and tell me if I'm okay. GO ON. LOOK!"

She scurried away and peered through the door and her eyes widened.

"Daphne! Dean Winchester has gone!"

A red haired, plump matron ran to the same door, as if thinking she would see the hulking 22 year old hiding under the bed.

"Call security, he can't have got far…"

John watched as nurses bustled around him, passing the message on. All eyes flew past him and they kept ignoring him. He was so worried…and now he was getting angry.

"WHERE THE HELL IS MY SON?!" he bellowed into the corridor.

All the nurses stopped for a moment. Daphne shooed them off and finally deemed it appropriate for John to be filled in.

"Mr Winchester, I would thank you not to raise your voice in my hospital-"

"And I would really thank you not to lose my son, but we can't always get what we want can we?" he snarled.

"This is not the fault of any of our staff. Dean must be some determined young man, we've seen this from the progress of his recovery. We've seen it from the fact he's recovering at all. We both know he's not fit enough to leave this hospital, and that he shouldn't have been able to leave but the fact is he has. We need to find him and you throwing a tantrum will not help. Now can you think of anywhere he'd have gone?"

John took a deep breath and bit his tongue. As much as he wanted to blame the hospital he couldn't. If he'd been the father he should have been, this wouldn't have happened at all.

"His brother hasn't seen him for a few days. Dean doesn't cope well without his family."

"Well its best we find him quick. Could you call your other son?"

"I have done, he's not answering."

"Do you know where he is?"

John looked down and licked his lips.

"I have an idea…"

Daphne surveyed John's regret-filled face but said nothing.

"I suggest you start there" she murmured, placing a gentle hand on the troubled man's arm. He looked up into her eyes, surprised to see kindness there and nodded.

"Of course. Thankyou."

"That's my job sir."

John strode way quickly, knowing almost immediately where Dean's first port of call would be and cursed himself for not thinking about it as soon as he started looking for Dean.

Running to the elevator, he waited for a second before deciding it would be quicker to take the stairs. He took the stairs three at a time and ran through the ER corridors with a pace that could only belong to a hunter, as he dodged gurneys and doctors.

Panting he reached the doorframe, and noted the blood staining the mat beneath the automatic doors. It could have been anyone's. It was an ER after all. But call it fatherly instinct, John knew that blood was his son's. That Dean had really left the hospital. Muttering some choice expletives, he ran to the Impala. He sighed as he saw it still sitting in the parking area, not knowing whether to be relieved that it was still there or worried that now he couldn't predict Dean's next move.

He fumbled in his pockets for the keys and remembered with a pang that he had dropped them in his bag, not thinking for a second that Dean would steal it and go after Sam alone.

He glanced around for any sign of his eldest son. He surveyed the Impala, grimacing with fear. Then the fluttering of a piece of paper caught his eye. He ran to the front of the car and pulled the note off with a flourish.

_Sorry Dad. Gone to get Sam. Don't worry, took some weapons. Dean._

_PS buy some new boxers I know I took yours…_

John wanted to smile at the last bit but he couldn't. He didn't know the whereabouts of either of his sons. Worried didn't begin to cover it. All he had was a rough note from Dean and some vague directions from Bobby. Still, if John knew Dean, he'd do exactly the same as John would in his position. Go back to the bar where this shit all started.

Sighing as he made to break into his own classic and beautiful car, he heard something that made his heart stop.

"_Poor dude. I hope he gets home okay"_

"_I can't believe the hospital let him leave in that state…the way he was shaking…hope he finds his brother…"_

"_Hmm"_

John looked towards the two men speaking, noting their porters uniforms. He knew from the mention of the brother that they had met Dean. He looked in the direction they had walked from and could have cried to see the bus stop. Dean was on a friggin' bus. Which meant he definitely wasn't feeling himself.

* * *

Dean sat down in the bus shelter and sighed. A tremor shook through him and he curled up against the glass.

Before he registered the engine, a hand was pressed against his shoulder.

"The bus is here love. You do want to get on?"

Wearily, he nodded.

"Yeah, thanks" he croaked. He started to think it was a mistake leaving the hospital without his dad.

Two men laughed as they got off the bus and Dean groaned as the jostled passed him.

The laughing stopped abruptly and even with his eyes closed, Dean knew he was being watched.

"Hey, man, you okay?"

"You don't look so well you know…"

"Maybe we should take you back to the-"

"No!" Dean snapped, opening his eyes, pleading with the two men before him, noting their uniforms.

"Please…I have to get..home…it's my brother. I need to find him"

Instantly, the woman beside him grabbed his elbow.

"Come on. Let's get you on the bus then."

Dean so wanted to shake her off and tell her he didn't need help or pity. But he did. There was no denying it, he wasn't getting to Sam on his own.

"You sure you wanna be doing this?" one of the men called.

"I have to." Dean murmured as the doors of the bus closed. The lady helped him into the seat and settled beside him.

"Where are you going love…"

"Um, I don't know…there's a bar…The Cock and The Bull"

"Er, well that's right near the third stop. Is your brother likely to be there?"

"I don't know lady. I've lost him…"

"Oh. Well. You'll be no good to him exhausted will you? Good job you've caught the long bus…scenic route, we won't be there for an hour, why don't you rest your eyes?"

Dean really didn't want to; he hated being mothered by someone he didn't know. But before he knew it, his head was bobbing against his chest and the woman was whispering to him.

"That's it. Sleep"

And he did.

An hour passed far too quickly for Dean's liking and he was being shaken awake with some urgency.

"Ssm?"

"Love, you're on the bus remember? You've hit your stop…"

"Right…" he groaned groggily.

He made to stand and sat down back down as the world threatened to flip and rotate.

"It's okay, let me help you."

Clinging to the kind lady's shoulders, he stood up and she held his waist whilst he swayed.

Getting his feet he stumbled forward and tried to lock his knees as they threatened to buckle. Still, the lady held on.

As she helped him down the stairs and was sure he wasn't going to topple any time soon, she looked into his bleary, yet shockingly vivid green eyes.

"What's your name, hon?"

Shuddering, more at the use of hon than with the cold he liked to think, he was going to blow her off until he remembered the help that she didn't have to give. He looked down at the floor.

"Dean. My name's Dean."

"Dean." She nodded, "Well, I hope you find your Sam."

"Thanks."

"Stay safe okay…" she wanted to grab him and take him home. Force feed him nutrition or something. He looked so young and helpless. She watched him walk into town and bit her lip. She'd never seen a man fight so strong. Sam must be one hell of a brother.

"I didn't ask your name"

She looked up, straight into Dean's eyes once more and was taken aback.

"Sorry?"

"I never got your name"

Smiling weakly she answered him.

"Miriam. Miriam Wheatley"

"Thanks, Miriam. I owe you one."

"Hey you just find your brother. Right? Oh and-"

She stepped forward and dug out a pen from her handbag.

Pulling out Dean's arm she scrawled her number there, before standing back whilst he read it and looked up quizzically.

"Just you call me when you do find him. Let me know you're okay."

Dean could have cried. No one had shown him this much concern. Certainly not a stranger.

"I..I will do."

She smiled and got back on the bus, waving to Dean as he walked off into the distance.

She got back onto the bus and thanked the driver for waiting. Sitting down next to the window she stared, contemplating the strong young man she's just met and wondering if fate was working in the most mysterious of ways.

* * *

Dean stood looking up at the sign as it swung in the breeze. The Cock and Bull. Where all the crap started. His wound throbbed with the memory and he winced. His breathing felt a bit tight. But he had rested for too long. He had to find Sam now.

Stepping inside, he drew the hoodie around him. He noticed the eyes of all the patrons turn to him.

Slowly, he approached the bar.

"Hey we want no trouble here." The bartender said, holding up his hands.

"Nor do I. I just wanna know if you've seen my brother."

"The lanky kid with you when..."

"When your employee stabbed me in the back…yeah, him."

The bartender looked sheepish and his eyes glanced over Dean's shoulder.

Dean followed his gaze.

His heart got caught in his throat and he didn't know what to do.

He knew where he was going but he never entertained what would happen if Charlie turned up.

He turned and faced Charlie, trying to look confident but he couldn't do it. He couldn't breathe.

Charlie drew his hands out his pocket and Dean started to wheeze.

"Shit…" the bartender breathed, pulling the phone to call 911.

Dean held out a hand to stop him.

"No, please…I'll be fine…just…"

His vision was tunnelling, he could see Charlie continuing to approach.

Charlie bent down and looked directly into Dean's frightened eyes.

"I know you" he slurred, his eyes glassy and unfocussed with excessive alcohol consumption.

Dean groaned.

"What…have…you…done…to…my …brother?"

He's knee buckled but Charlie caught him, even in his drunken stupor.

"Whoa…oh shit, man, what did I do?"

"Sammy…what did you do?"

"I could have killed you…"

"Have…you killed my brother?" Dean said with terrified strength, unable to stop the black dots from dancing in his vision.

"What? No. Man, I'm so sor-"

"Where the hell is my brother?" Dean wheezed.

"I don't kn-"

"Charlie."

A warning voice came from somewhere. Dean was losing it fast. He could barely see straight.

"Charlie leave him alone"

"I'm trying to help, Geoff"

"You've done enough. Go home."

"But…but"

"GO home."

Charlie released Dean and stood. Dean fell to be kneeling on one knee, his hands shaking, as he tried not to fall.

"Dean?"

"Hmm" Dean swallowed, trying to keep a grip on reality.

He clawed his way up the bar, and tried to stand.

He swayed violently.

"I've seen Sam."

Dean looked at the grey-haired man through hazy, heavily-lidded eyes, and exhaled. Sam was alive. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fainted straight into the stranger's arms.

* * *

_**Don't for**_**_get to drop me a review please...I will be even quicker in updating then :) x_**


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